Lives upon Doubts
by loveofwrittenword
Summary: Sometimes it's difficult for him to breathe. Sometimes the only solitude he can find is in the flushed cheeks and innocent smile of his godson. Sometimes, the things he least expects to feel make an unexpected arrival, bringing with it the clarity of his regret. No matter how unintentional it may have been. One-Shot. Few months post-war.


Disclaimer: J.K.R. owns. No infringement meant.

**Lives upon Doubts**

"_Jealousy lives upon doubts. It becomes madness or ceases entirely as soon as we pass from doubt to certainty."—__François de la Rochefoucauld_

…

Harry's POV

.

The house is almost unnaturally silent around me this morning; something not very synonymous with the Burrow. But I take it in stride.

After quickly dressing and making my way down the creaking stairs, I'm stopped by the image in front of me. Some may think it the picture of domesticity, but I can't help how much it hurts me, makes me feel those familiar stirrings of guilt deep in my chest.

Doing my best, I try and push those feelings down. In my mind, I can hear the voice of my conscious once again reminding me not every outcome from the war is my fault. Not everyone killed during the war and the last battle can be laid at my feet. And even though I know this to be true, it isn't easy to always swallow.

Though several months have passed since the last battle at Hogwarts, and the deep cuts of our society are slowly starting to heal, they still feel raw to me. Some moments are harder than others, granted. And now, as I watch Mrs. Weasley rocking gently in her chair, knitting a jumper with a visible F, it feels as if the war was only yesterday. Trying to find my next breath to breathe becomes too difficult. My hand unsteadily finds the wall as I try to control myself. My heart beats too loudly in my ears and cold tingles travel the length of my body.

_Get a grip_, I tell myself. It isn't often that I feel these extremes, but when those closest to me feel sadness and I can visibly see it, the effect is worse. I get cold sweats, shivers and the need to breathe becomes almost unbearable.

I try to remain as silent as possible while working through my latest episode. After taking several deep breaths and wiping my face of cold sweat I straighten up. I still feel shaky, as if my body needs sugar, but I push past it. Plastering on my best fake smile – and having lots of practice with making after-war events and minimal appearances – I go down the remaining steps and turn the corner. Mrs. Weasley stops her soft rocking as she looks up. Her hand goes up to her chest as her sad smile is replaced with a moment of clarity.

I pretend nothing is different, like I don't see her trying to hide the blue jumper with an F loving stitched on the chest.

"Harry, dear," she says, laughing softly.

Though she's doing a good job, I can still see the lingering sadness, the loss she probably will always feel. New lines are carved into her face, especially around her eyes and forehead and strains of grey hair can be seen in her red hair, but I think she looks lovely. Each wrinkle and grey hair was properly earned.

"You gave me a fright." I give her a sheepish grin, doing my best to remember to breathe. It seems as if we the survivors have become mere actors, trying and pushing each day to continue living, letting go of the deep and grinding pain, and remembering to live for those who made it possible with their own spilled blood.

"Sorry, Mrs. Weasley. Just thought I'd get in some flying this morning. Beautiful morning and all."

"No worries, dear. Would you like some breakfast? I can whip some up if you'd like?"

As she goes to stand up, tenderly starting to fold the blue jumper, I find my voice and push away the guilt. She always goes above and beyond for me. "No, Mrs. Weasley," I hurriedly say, "Please, don't go through any trouble."

"It's no trouble, dear." And I know it's the truth. Making a hot meal for those she loves is her way of showing her deep affection.

It is part of the reason I'm here this weekend, staying at the Burrow. After getting a post from Mr. Weasley asking us to stay this weekend – the Burrow being too quiet and hard for Molly to handle – I packed my rucksack and came over. It was an easy decision to make. Being around her grief is hard and makes me feel the deepest guilt, but it's worth it to see a smile on her saddened face.

"I know it isn't, but I just thought I go for a fly. You know . . ."

"Say no more, Harry. I know better than most." We both genuinely laugh, knowing how much her children love Quidditch. Charlie being good enough to go professional if he chose. "Well, maybe after you're done, I'll whip you up some bacon sandwiches. Does that sound good?"

My mouth is already watering and the temptation to take her up on her offer is starting to take over. "Sounds good," I quickly say, before I change my mind. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley, for everything." It is the closest I can go to ever apologizing to her.

She must hear something deeper in my voice because her eyes slightly water as she looks away from me and to a picture of Fred on the mantle in the sitting room. I damn myself for making her cry. Truly I tried to bury my guilt and not let it affect her, but I am really off my game this morning.

"It's no problem, Harry. It is nice to have you children home for the weekend. Gives these old walls life again." She doesn't look back at me, but I can see a soft smile overtaking her tired face.

_Finally_, I tell myself. I've done something right this morning. Mr. Weasley was most correct in asking Ron, Hermione and I to come this weekend. He knows his wife probably better than he knows himself. And having us around, making a mess and loud clatters is exactly what she needs. Bill and his family will be around later for dinner, with Percy and George stopping by. The old Burrow will be full to bursting, just how the Weasley matron loves it.

"Have a nice fly, dear." Gently she unfolds the blue jumper, takes out her knitting needles and starts a soft clacking rhythm.

I take the reprieve, making my way from the sitting room into the kitchen. Turning the corner and walking down the short hall to the kitchen, I hear more voices. They are more hisses than anything else. I can't help but wonder if it's really seven in the morning; it seems as if everyone is already up and beaten me to the solitary I was after. _Should have stayed in my room, well, Charlie's old room_.

As I get closer, the voices become more recognizable. I try to stay quiet so they won't hear me. Common decency tells me to turn around and backtrack to the front door, but something keeps me from going. Perhaps it's been a while since I've seen her or that we've haven't had a solid conversation in some time that the sound of her voice keeps me still.

I try and chide myself into leaving, to give Ron and Hermione the privacy they deserve, but my feet won't listen. So I resign myself to listening and getting the hell out of there if things become too personal.

But as I listen in, I feel something kind of funny stirring inside me.

". . . not that easy, Ron. McGonagall and Kingsley both think I should wait and I agree. Things needs to settle more before I even attempt to –"

"– I know that, Hermione!" Ron's voice sounds annoyed and I wonder if they are about to argue. Granted it's nothing new with them, but after the war and them getting together, I thought for sure things would improve. I start to ready myself. I don't want to get in the middle of their arguments, especially considering they are in a relationship now – still weird for me to think about.

"But you're really sad, and I know being here and seeing my family together isn't easy for you. I hate hearing how upset it makes you."

I'm taken a back. I didn't realize how difficult it was for Hermione to see the Weasley's together. I thought they were like a second family to her and loved being around them. But now that I think about it, I can understand. It is how I also feel. Though the Weasley's are great and I love them a lot, they still aren't "my family". I guess with Hermione's parents still in hiding, with no knowledge of her, it's taking a toll on her.

Hearing her talk so candidly, and to Ron of all people – not the most sensitive person in the world – I start to feel a little hurt. I can't help but wonder why she hasn't sought me out and shared what she might be feeling. After everything she's done for me and all we've been through together, I guess I assumed she would. I feel a need to somehow try and make up for all she's done for me, all she's sacrificed, and all my attitudes she's put up with over our friendship.

"I love your family, Ron!" Hermione shoots back. She sounds defensive, as if she has to explain her emotions.

"I know that. And I'm not saying you don't. I just feel badly. That's all, Hermione." Ron's voice is gentle, soothing almost.

I feel as if I've stepped into some alternate reality, where Hermione is the brash one and Ron the understanding one. And me . . . well, I seem to be on the fringe of my friends and their problems.

Soft sniffles can be heard, and something inside me wants to rush in and comfort Hermione. But that isn't my role; not to mention a little voice inside my head telling me she hadn't even sought me out to begin with. I can't remember the last time we had an honest conversation or one that didn't seem superficial.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I shouldn't have taken my emotions out on you. That wasn't fair." I can hear a chair being scooted around the floor, making me think someone is moving closer. My curiosity to actually see them is great. I'm not sure why I feel this way, but them being together still feels so foreign to me. It's been a possibility for a long time, but the thought of them as a "couple" is still odd.

Cautiously, I sneak up to the doorway and peer in. It shocks me to see them so close, so loving towards each other. I can only see their profile, but that doesn't stop me from seeing their foreheads touching and Hermione running her fingers through Ron's red hair before finding a resting place on his cheeks.

My mouth falls open a little at such open affection between the two. "That's my know-it-all, bleeding heart Hermione. Apologizing for having feelings and always trying to spare someone from feeling hurt." Soft laughter falls from Hermione's lips as she tilts her head and places several kisses to Ron's.

"You know me so well, huh? Got me all figured out, Mr. Teaspoon?"

Ron grins looks silly and a little dazed as his girlfriend . . . _his girlfriend_ gives him a long, lingering kiss. I have to turn away. The moment is far too intimate for me to watch.

"Probably know you better than anyone."

And though I can hear the teasing tone to his words, _that something_ funny inside me starts to wiggle again, making me uncomfortable. To think Ron actually thinks that is the true joke. Him knowing Hermione better than anyone else isn't the truth. Something slimy inside me claims that right. After everything we experienced together, survived together and struggled through together allows me to claim that title. Ron ran away, and she had stayed. We knew each other better than anyone.

The dark and almost bitter thought brings me back to reality. I grab my chest while silently backing up. I catch one more glimpse of them cuddling before averting my eyes and retracting my steps.

It takes me several minutes to pull myself together, to push this foreign emotion from me. It's almost as if I'm jealous of Ron. Almost like when he had got Prefect instead of me. _But that's silly_, I tell myself. I am not anything but happy for him and Hermione. After years of arguing, bitterness, games and awkward moments, they are finally together. As they should be. I knew it would be weird when they finally pulled themselves together, but to feel this strange bitterness inside me is unexpected.

I put on a plastic happy face, telling myself to grow up before I make my footfalls heard. I know I'm walking louder than needed, but I want to give them time to pull away. Granted I could have gone to the front door and left them to it, but I don't.

Pink cheeks and wide smiles greet me as I enter the kitchen. They are the picture of young love. And I am happy for them. Yet there is also something else there. Something I didn't really know until witnessing their last conversation and hearing Ron's innocent words.

"Harry, mate . . . you're up early?" Ron jokes as I come closer. His goofy grin is almost comically. Even his many freckles seem vibrant.

"You're one to talk," I joke back, keeping my plastic smile plastered to my face. It is almost hurting my cheeks. Typical Ron doesn't see the edge I have, and surprisingly, neither does Hermione. Usually she is able to pick up even a whiff of my brooding. That squirmy feeling starts again, but I push it away. I don't know what the hell is happening, but I don't like it.

"Alright Hermione?" I ask, not having seen her last night before I went to bed. She must have gotten in late.

Her hand drops from my best mate's cheek as she turns to me, her face flushed with pinkness. "I'm good, Harry. You?"

To my surprise, Ron leans in and gives her cheek a quick peck. Hermione's face heats up even more, and I wonder what Ron's intention is. She turns from me and giggles into his neck, burying her flushed face into his shoulder.

I don't know this girly Hermione, this Hermione that _giggles_ over a kiss to her cheek.

"She's good, mate. Aren't you, babe?" he answers for her. This time I can't stop my nose from scrunching up at their blatant affection and Ron's pet names. This is mad. Next I expect Snape to show up wearing a bright pink t-shirt with the words "Life is Beautiful. Adopt a Hufflepuff" stitched on the front. And clean hair, too.

I can't take this anymore. I feel so out of sorts and my body oddly achy. With their attention on each other and hardly noticing I'm still here, I walk to the back door and mumble a quick goodbye. I get no response as I shut the door on the cuddling and whispers to each other.

As I retrieve my new broom and push everything outlandish away from me, I soar into the air. At least some things are still the same.

.

.

.

The Burrow is quite filled to bursting with so many people here. It feels familiar and comfortable to me. I can understand why Mrs. Weasley hates the stillness of her home. With warmness infusing into me, I take a sip of my butter beer and bask in the almost normalness. These moments don't happen that often, with everyone busy and trying to put their life back together. But with Teddy sleeping and cuddled against my chest, I take the good and shove the bad.

I watch my godson for a while, marveling at how beautiful and innocent he is. The war has touched a lot of things, and taken away much, but even Voldemort couldn't overcome the good, the love that so purely abounds in this world. I sometimes thought Dumbledore was barking mad with all his love-talk and it being my greatest tool. But now as I hold my tiny godson and bask in his closeness, I can't help but think the old man was on to something.

Even looking around the room and seeing the sea of redheads and friends, I can feel my heart expand. Mrs. Weasley and Andromeda looks the picture of calm as they discuss something I'll probably never understand; Mr. Weasley looks settled as he sits in his favorite chair talking with Bill. Percy and Ron both look intense as they play another round of chess. Hermione looks happy as she reads her book, tucked under Ron's arm with her head leaning on his shoulder.

I still can't really get over my earlier thoughts and seeing them so lovey-dovey. I've never really know Ron and Hermione to be so content around each other, let alone watching them kiss and cuddle.

After the immediate battle at Hogwarts, I somehow expected things to go on as they had before the year-long search for the Horcruxes. Or so I thought. To be honest, I didn't really have an idea how things would be, or if I would even live to see that day. But one thing I was sure of, something I thought I felt deep in my bones – that no matter what, Hermione, Ron and I would still be extremely close. You can't go through what we did and not remain really close.

Yet three months after said battle, I feel as if I hardly know my closest friends. And I know it is partially my fault. Right after ending Voldemort, my priorities seemed to shift without me even realizing. Having to deal with post war appearances, memorials, obligations to survivors, and clean up, I felt like I needed a break from it; to find some escape in the madness. My escape came in several different forms: Ginny, Teddy, immediate Auror training starting up, getting my flat set up and finding time to sleep. With everything going on and trying to distract myself from nightmares and postwar depression, some things unwittingly fell to the wayside.

Sadly, Hermione seemed to be the biggest mistake I had made. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate her immense efforts in the war or her being really the only person who had truly stuck by my side through _everything,_ I had just selfishly focused my attention elsewhere.

My fragile relationship with Ginny was something I was eager to start up again. I remembered how she made me feel like a different person, almost normal. My time with her had seemed like an uncomplicated dream, and I wanted that back. I wanted that feeling of peace and something that didn't remind me of war. And so I turned my attention to her.

Teddy was another blessing in the dissipating fog of war. I found in him something so pure and untainted it scared me sometimes. Granted I did get really sad at thinking about him growing up without his mum and dad, never knowing how wonderful they were. But as I held him while he slept, or watched him giggle at some silly face I would make at him, or watched him taken in the world around him with such fascination, I couldn't help the love that overwhelmed me. I promised to do my best by him and to make sure his life was never devoid of affection. So I devoted as much time to him as I could, visiting Teddy and Andromeda often.

Immediate training also began after the final battle. Though the major battle had taken place, Magical Britain still needed able men and women to be trained to hold the peace and hunt down all remaining Voldemort supporters. It was an effort that would take a while and not happen overnight.

Happily I joined, wanting to still do my part. Just because I had won a duel with Voldemort, I didn't think myself above anyone else and knew I needed further training. So I woke every morning and joined my fellow trainees at the ministry. It was a good distraction to come home at night to my unpacked flat, sore and extremely tired. After several bites of supper and hardly having any strength left from everything else demanding my attention, I would fall flat on my bed and sleep. Hoping the nightmares would leave me for a while longer.

My life was crazy to say the least. And now as I watch Hermione resting contently against her boyfriend, feeling as if I hardly know or recognize her, I know I've failed spectacularly. In my busiest of times, I should have made the most time for her. After everything she had done and sacrificed for me, I should have done better by her. Yet she doesn't seem as if she is suffering from my lack of attention.

I pull my eyes away from my best friends and try to stop the squirmy feeling happening in the pit of my gut. I know it is guilt, but also something else. Something I am just starting to realize, but never stopped to think about.

The seat depresses beside me, and after dropping several kisses to Teddy's forehead, I turn and see George grinning at me. It isn't often that he smiles, and you can still see the deep strain he feels in losing his other half, but today I know he's making the effort.

"Missing our little Ginnykins, Harry? You look sad."

I playfully roll my eyes while trying to push my odd feelings down. "It is weird with her being gone," I say diplomatically. "But I'm very proud of her. I know she'll do good."

I can tell George feels the same as me. We are all proud of Ginny and the chance she is getting to try out for the Harpies. To play professional Quidditch is her ultimate career dream and something I hope she'll get. Though she is still going back to Hogwarts for her last year, she will be training and working with the reserve team, if chosen that is. Which I know she will be. She's put in a lot of practice this summer, and I know it's been a great help in her coping with Fred's loss – and everyone else we lost for that matter.

"Yeah, she will. But you don't need to pout, Harry. She'll be back soon enough."

"I never pout," I say, pretending to be most affronted. "Brood, perhaps, but never pout. I'm much too mature for that."

George and I laugh quietly, being sure not to wake Teddy sleeping against my chest. "Kids these days . . . they beat Dark Lords and think they are oh so mature . . ."

I hide my surprise at his joking about anything to do with the war. This is a first I have seen and don't want to spook him. "If that doesn't put some hair on my chest and mature me even a little, then I don't know what will." Again, George's soft laughter rings out and for the second time today, I feel as if I'm doing something really good.

"Right you are, Harry. But there's no need to brood over my little sister. Hardly anything would be hard pressed to keep that girl from you."

Though I smile, that remark gives me a little jolt. It is a harsh reality I am seeing and I don't really like it. Guilt swamps me as I quickly look over at Hermione. Though I know she is probably happy for me, I wonder if she misses me at all. With Ginny gone for the weekend and a rare couple days off from training, I can clearly see how I've mismanaged my time.

From here going forward, I plan to do better. To spend more quality time with those closest to me. No matter how much little free time I may have. It is no excuse. I know Hermione is extremely busy too, sadly through secondhand knowledge from Ron. But I know she'd make time for me if I gave her reason to. It's something she's always done.

"How about I try and smile just for you, George? You do after all bring so much joy and light into my life . . ." I give him a flat stare.

He pretends to pop his collar and lifts his chin into the air. It's funny how much he looks like Percy. "Right you are, Harry, my boy. I do bring so much joy into so many lives." He may be joking with me, but those words are truer than he'll probably ever know.

"George, dear, could you come here for a moment?" Mrs. Weasley asks, pulling our attention to her. Though she's still talking with Andromeda, I can see a truly happy smile on her face. I wonder if it's because she heard George's seldom heard laughter.

"My adoring fans await, young Harry. Duty calls." With a playful tousle to my hair, the lone twin gets up from the sofa and makes his way over to his mum.

I turn from them and back to look down at Teddy. He is still out; I can't believe he can sleep in such an awkward position. But his grandmother says babies can sleep through mostly anything. I drop a kiss to his flushed cheek and marvel at him.

I can feel a pricking at the back of my neck and quickly look up. I still feel skittish from the war, my senses still highly tuned. As I look around, trying to figure out what's caused the feeling, I start a little as I catch Hermione's eyes.

I feel caught in her stare, in her deep brown eyes. A soft smile plays at her lips as her book rests on her chest. For a moment, it feels as if we are back in the tent, with only us together. For that time, I was her sole purpose. It seemed like everything she did, said, and accomplished was for me, for my well-being. And though that sounds awfully conceited, I know it's true. Time and time again, my best female friend had put me above everything in her life, including Ron, and I never truly thought anything of it.

Perhaps it was our norm and something I got used to over the years and took for granted.

But now as our lives seem separate, as if I hardly know her anymore, I can tell I took her for granted. I guess with the majority of her time focused on other things and people and relationships, I'm just now starting to realize. Sadly, it has taken me this long. I just wonder why it seems as if now I am realizing this.

Shaking my head from my surmounting guilt, I give Hermione my most grateful grin. I hope she can read in my smile how thankful I am to her and how sorry I am for essentially abandoning her when times got too crowded. I feel like the world's biggest heel. A first-class git.

I know it's mean and unfair to think, but this is Ron's usual role. Again, I can't help but feel we've somehow traded places and realities.

Our little moment seems to bring something back, something missing from my life. For a moment, I am the center of Hermione's attention again, her best friend perhaps. And while we are only smiling at each other, words and messages are being spoken. She always seemed to know what I was thinking or feeling, without ever having to say anything out loud.

I go to talk, to say something to her, but before I can say anything, Ron whispers something in her ear, taking her attention away from me. A slight blush heats up her cheeks, causing her to tuck her face into his shoulder.

_What is with that_ . . .

I stare at her, willing her to look back at me, to see if I was going to say something. But she doesn't. Her face stays hidden as she cuddles further into Ron. Her shoulders rise as she releases a sigh. I may not be too near her, but I can tell from her body language she's content. And sadly I have nothing to do with it. Sadly I've contributed nothing to her life in the past few months.

With that squirmy feeling back in my gut and guilt eating at me, I can now identify what I am feeling: anger at myself and my failures; anger at Ron for unwittingly taking my role in Hermione's life; jealously . . . yes, jealously.

_It has to be understandable_, I tell myself. I may not have romantic feelings for my best female friend, but that doesn't preclude me from feeling jealous.

.

.

.

As the night winds down and the Burrow begins to settle in for the night, I can hear the crickets start to sing. Their song is quite lulling; it brings an unexpected warmth to me. The day had been long . . . longer than I ever thought possible or predicted it to be. But I guess unexpected stirrings and newly realized feelings can do that to a person. It throws you into a tailspin with no way of stopping it.

I exhale loudly and push my back further against the crooked wall of the Burrow. With everyone leaving or going to bed, I've taken the time to come outside and simply bask in the night. To set free everything that's plagued me today. It has been one of my toughest days since the war, not to mention how much of a failure I feel like.

But even as I brood in the peaceful night blanketing the Burrow, I know I'll try more. Because I know Harry Potter can be a better person. Not the Boy-Who-Lived-Potter, but the one known most intimately by my friends, by my best friend of all: Hermione.

The thought puts a small smile on my face. I wonder if there are others like Hermione and I out there. More importantly, I wonder if there are more Hermione's out there. Never had I known someone as selfless and caring as she. I guess my mum ranked up there – with her giving her life for mine – but I didn't know her like I knew Hermione. What I feel for my best female friend isn't romantic, but it is still very deep and abiding. We have a connection untouched by anyone. Even Ron, my best mate, can't come close to ever knowing me like his girlfriend does. As funny as that sounds.

Are there people out there who put one single person above everything and everyone else in their life? Above school, parents, romantic relationships, their own safety? Is there another Hermione out there to her Harry? She may be a know-it-all, pain in the arse at times, but she is my constant – the one sure thing I've never really doubted. Even during sixth year.

"Are you finished brooding yet, Harry?" I hear spoken to my left.

My heart jumps into my throat as I clutch it with my hand.

"Damn it, Hermione, give a guy a warning bell or something." Her soft laughter fills the air warmly and for that, I can forgive her for scaring the dickens out of me.

I feel shivers erupt over my skin. I know it's because after trying all day and failing, I now have her attention. I'm not sure why she's even outside. She had been one of the first people to call it a night and gone up to bed.

"And I'm not brooding, not that you would have noticed." I'm a little harsher with her than I mean to be, but my emotions from today are catching up with me, and I feel anger at her. As unfair as it may be.

She sighs heavily as she takes the spot next to me. She brings her knees up to her chest while folding her arms around them. Being here together, staring at the night sky and feeling introspective remind me so much of our time together and the things we survived together.

"I notice you're upset with me." As I go to refute what she's saying, most likely about to lie, she continues, "I notice we don't spend as much time together anymore." She turns her head towards me and I can see a lingering sadness tingeing her eyes; even in the dark of night. I know her that well. "I notice you're turning into the person I'd always knew you'd be, living up to the potential you've always had, Harry."

Something starts to sting the back of my eyes and I blame the summer breeze. Her pronouncement touches me more than she can ever know. Or perhaps that isn't true. Once again, without me having to say anything or spend much time with her, Hermione seems to have sussed out what is bothering me. The girl is crazy smart and intuitive.

"And I notice that no matter how much time may pass us by, or the different walks of life we'll travel, you'll be kept close to my heart. Nothing could ever change that, Harry. Not even my work or my relationship with Ron."

The stinging increases as tears cloud my eyes. And as embarrassed as I am to be tearing up at her simple words, I still feel a strong sense of gratitude for Hermione and how truly well she knows me. For every Harry out there, I really hope he has a Hermione.

Tenderly she reaches out and pushes back my overgrown fringe. It is so reminiscent of our time together in the tent and her small touches of comfort she tried to give me.

Without really knowing why I blurt out, "I seem to be jealous of Ron. He's taking you from me." We both rest our heads on our bent knees while staring at each other. The moment is intense, but vintage Hermione and Harry.

"I know that, too, Harry. I feel the same about everything clogging your life." Our confessions of the heart aren't of a romantic variety, but still poignant nonetheless. "But I know you needed to spread your wings and fly away from me for a time. You've other things in your life that are more important right now."

I shake my head . . . she is one of the most important people in my life, and hardly anything can trump that.

"I know it doesn't take my place," she says, as if plucking the thought straight from my head. "But I do understand, Harry. And I'm not mad. I always wait for you, you know."

_Wasn't that the damned truth_.

"I think it's also okay to be jealous," she whispers softly. "We don't feel _that way_ about each other . . ." we both pretend to shudder in disgust. ". . . but it is understandable with all the time and attention we've given each other the last seven years. When that is taken away and put on to something else, I think feelings of jealousy arise. Human nature and all that. Don't you think?"

I give her an indulgent smile, thankful because the war hasn't changed everything. Hermione still has the tendency to slip into lecture-mode. "I think you've always been brilliant beyond your years."

Her eyes become downcast at my compliment, as if embarrassed. She's always seemed surprised at my complimenting her. And sadly, I know I haven't done it enough. I've been quite unfair to her. Something I intend to change . . .

"Well, I don't know about all that," she mumbles.

"I guess, thankfully, I do, then. And you can't argue with the Savior of Wizarding Britain." I stick out my chin pompously, channeling my inner Percy. As I know she would, Hermione gets over her shyness and playfully whacks me around the head.

"You're an incorrigible git."

"But you still love me."

She sighs dramatically, "Glutton for punishment, I guess."

"Does Ron know that?" I ask, waggling my eyebrows lasciviously. After pretending to be affronted we both break into muted laughter. My stomach is starting to hurt from how much we are laughing.

"You're just awful, Harry. Ever so awful." Her laughter calms as she continues to shake her head in playful exacerbation.

As we quiet, I turn once again and study her face. She turns to me, too. We stare at each other with a profound love. I reach for her hand and twine it with mine. I feel my chest hitch for this girl – this woman – who's given so much of herself for me.

"We'll be okay, Harry."

"I know," I reassure her softly.

Somehow, she had seen beyond my plastic smiles and fake moods today. When I thought she hadn't noticed me, or even really cared, she had done the opposite. Without me noticing, she had seen everything, and taken the time to sooth my ruffled feathers. Harry the drama king, I suppose.

When it should have been me making the first move, offering her an olive branch, my best friend selflessly stepped up once again. I may be a heel and a git, but I have a friend – a person so special to me, words fail – that redeems me.

Wizards and witches may think the sun shines out my arse, but it is nothing in comparison to the woman sitting next to me.

"Want to grab some lunch tomorrow?" she asks, knowing that I need something from her. "Just you and me?"

"I think Ron may want to kick my arse, but you got yourself a date."

"Language, Harry," she playfully chides me. "And Ron will do no such thing. I'll kick his arse if he tries anything."

I push myself up from the wall while pulling her with me. With her hand still clutched in mine, I start to make my way back inside. "So you and Ron are quite the kinky pair, then," I joke, dodging the whack she tries to give to my head again. I'm too tall for her to reach.

"Why do I continue to still be your friend? Why couldn't I have been blessed with a female best friend?"

We both laugh at our terrible humor as we make our way inside.

I leave my erratic emotions to the summer breeze and take my best friend back. I know I may still have moments of unexpected stirrings, but with Hermione always beside me, reassuring and encouraging me I'll be fine. You couldn't ask for anyone better, swot and all.

I really do hope every Harry has a Hermione . . .

.

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><p>.<p>

Author's Notes: I had this idea and it wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. I actually liked it and the premise. I wondered after all the time Harry and Hermione had spent together, was it ever weird for him when her attention wasn't on him, but on Ron. I mean lets face it, the girl always put Harry as her first priority (and yes, I think even above school - look at how much time she devoted to him fourth year instead of studying). I wondered what Harry would feel when he watched her and Ron together; I mean really watched them. I think jealously would have been an unexpected feeling. Not out of romantic feelings, but out of Ron taking his place. Or always unconsciously expecting Hermione to focus on him and she isn't any more. So thus, this little one-shot was born.

Oh, and the last line is a throw back to Dawson's Creek . . . lol.

Anyhow, I hope you liked. If you have the time, I'd love your thoughts on this story, or on HP/HG friendship.

Many hugs.


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